


worship you like it's a sunday

by catfox



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Begging, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Not Canon Compliant, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, What Have I Done, absolutely zero plot whatsoever, go to horny jail bonk, no beta we just die, please don't read this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:13:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25947889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catfox/pseuds/catfox
Summary: The one where Nemesis accidentally goes into heat, Selfmade accidentally happens to be around, and things just accidentally work out.
Relationships: Oskar "Selfmade" Boderek/Tim "Nemesis" Lipovšek
Comments: 7
Kudos: 85





	worship you like it's a sunday

**Author's Note:**

> me: i have so many cool ideas and i can't wait to write them all!  
> my brain: but what if you write this mindless smut instead
> 
> disclaimer all fictional. this is your last warning. good luck going forward.

“Help me,” Nemesis hisses into his phone. “Miky, please, I swear to god—“

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Miky intones, in a deadpan voice, which is definitely not what Nemesis needs right now. “You _forgot_ to take your suppressants?”

Nemesis groans, leaning against the wall of the bathroom. It’s so goddamn hot in here; then again, maybe it’s just Nemesis. “I was busy! Besides, it’s not supposed to start so early.”

At least Miky sounds sympathetic this time when he replies, “Do you have scrims now?”

Nemesis glances at the clock on the wall. “In about half an hour.”

“Okay, I have to go film Run It Down soon—but I’ll send Jankos to bring you emergency pills. They should last you through scrims at least, and then you have to go home.” Miky places particular emphasis on those last two words. “No hanging around trying to push your luck with one more game. You’re not sixteen anymore.”

“I know, I know,” Nemesis murmurs, feeling relief course through his body. “You’re a lifesaver, Miky. I could actually kiss you right now.”

Miky snorts. “Try treating me to kebabs,” he suggests. “Jankos will be there in 15, he’ll meet you outside. Also, Tim?”

“Mm?” 

There’s a deliberately teasing lilt to Miky’s voice when he continues, “If it gets too bad, you could always ask Oskar to help out, you know?”

* * *

“You’re the best person in the world,” Nemesis declares, receiving the package from Jankos with open arms. He’s so grateful the alpha is mated, so all Nemesis can smell on him is Miky, because he really doesn’t know what he’s capable of right now. “Your boyfriend too, but he’s also really annoying, so.”

“I know, right,” Jankos agrees, but his movements are ginger as he awkwardly hands the paper bag over and quickly steps away like he’s afraid Nemesis will electrocute him by proximity alone. “Also, you should probably eat those fast. You kinda smell like a candy store right now.”

Nemesis groans. The alpha offers him a comforting smile. “Hey, at least you smell pretty good. Caps smells like a unicorn ate three bags of marshmallows and threw up all over him.”

That’s a little more graphic than Nemesis was expecting, but he appreciates the effort. “Thanks again, Jankos. You’re invited to kebabs with me and Miky.”

“I think I’d be the third wheel there,” Jankos jokes, then he pats Nemesis on the shoulder and turns to leave.

Nemesis checks his phone. He has ten minutes to down the medicine, get back to the gaming room in time for scrims, and hope that these emergency pills were made for _real_ emergencies.

* * *

“What’s that smell?” Selfmade crinkles his nose as Nemesis sits down at his desk.

Nemesis pauses, silently praying for some divine favor at least once in his life. To his left, Rekkles sniffs the air and shrugs.

“I don’t smell anything,” he says, and Nemesis exhales.

“Really?” Selfmade seems unconvinced. “It’s like perfume. Do you smell it, Nemi?”

“No,” Nemesis answers, hoping no one else brings it up. Then again, Selfmade is the only alpha on the team, so it makes sense. “I don’t smell anything.”

Apparently dissuaded by that, Selfmade settles back into his chair and opens his League client. “So what are we doing today?” He calls over at Mithy, who flips open his notebook, and scrims begin as usual.

Nemesis breathes a sigh of relief.

* * *

The respite lasts only for a few hours.

By the end of scrims, Nemesis is feverish and sweaty and incredibly uncomfortable. He can tell that the pills are starting to wear off, because Selfmade has started fidgeting next to him and even Rekkles, the only other member of the team not happily in a relationship, looks bewildered.

“Okay, what the fuck is that?” Selfmade demands, once they’ve wrapped up reviews for the day. “I knew something was weird.”

Quietly, Nemesis starts packing his stuff, keeping an ear on the conversation around him. If all goes well, he’ll be able to slip out of the room with no questions asked.

He feels downright awful. It’s like there’s a wildfire burning away at his insides, right in the pit of his stomach, and he’s starting to become hypersensitive to everything; the fabric of his hoodie against his skin, the heater buzzing away in the corner, and worst of all, everyone’s scents lingering in the air around him. For once, Nemesis is so grateful FNATIC makes them eat scent suppressants during scrims. He’s fairly sure he’d just keel over and die otherwise.

“Actually, I do kind of smell it now.” Bwipo frowns, and Nemesis starts packing faster because if even _Bwipo_ can tell then it’s really, really bad. “It smells a bit like my girlfriend when—"

“Everything smells like your girlfriend to you,” Hylissang interrupts, rolling his eyes.

“You’re one to talk,” Rekkles points out good-naturedly, already queueing up for solo Q. “I do agree something’s up, though.”

Bwipo looks faintly disgruntled. “I _meant,”_ he continues, ignoring them all, “it kind of smells like my girlfriend when she’s in… heat…” he trails off, and oh no, Nemesis needs to go.

It’s too late, though, because the process of elimination has already taken place and Nemesis is, after all, the only omega on the team. Selfmade’s eyes are wide as he swivels his chair to face Nemesis. “Nemi, are you—“

“I gotta go,” Nemesis blurts out, grabbing his backpack and all but running for the door. “See you guys tomorrow.”

He’s out before any of them can get another word out, calling out goodbyes to a puzzled-looking Mithy, Shaves and Pete as he practically sprints out of the office. Nemesis will probably have to text an explanation later, but right now he’s turning his phone off, taking the stairs two at a time, bursting out onto the main street and hailing the nearest cab he can see.

He gets home within ten minutes, but even then it’s still too much. By the time Nemesis makes it into the apartment, he’s breathless and way too fucking warm. He wants to take a bath in ice cubes right now, but that’s ‘bad for his system’ and all that, so Nemesis grits his teeth and strips his clothes off, collapsing onto his bed.

He’s so bloody _uncomfortable_. His hair is sticking to his forehead from sweat, and when Nemesis lets his fingers swipe gingerly between his thighs, they come away slick. 

Shit. Nemesis rubs at his eyes. This is going to be a long night.

* * *

He’s dying.

Nemesis is just dying. It’s been two hours and he’s not getting anywhere; he’s tried about everything, jerking himself off, fucking himself open with his fingers, both at the same time, and it just doesn’t work. He can’t come, and honestly, Nemesis is going to cry if this keeps up.

He doesn’t know why it’s so _hard._ He’s been through heats alone before. He’s had to bite his tongue and make himself come with nothing but his fingers and his imagination, countless times before, but his body doesn’t seem to want to cooperate this time.

Honestly, Nemesis has a bit of an idea why. But he refuses, _refuses_ to think about it, because if he does that’s just giving his stupid omega body confirmation of the idea, and where in the fuck is Nemesis going to find an alpha to knot him—

 _No._ No, no. Fuck. Nemesis whines, unable to help himself, rutting back onto his own fingers uselessly. It doesn’t work, it’s not enough, and he’s still so goddamn wet for fucking _nothing._

Just as Nemesis thinks he’s going to spontaneously combust, that his body is finally going to give up on him and put him out of his misery, there’s a tentative knock on the door.

“Nemi?” Selfmade’s voice rings out, and it’s embarrassing how Nemesis has to bite his knuckles to keep from whining in response. Maybe he’s just going crazy, but Selfmade’s voice sounds so deep, so husky, so much like an _alpha._

Yeah, he’s definitely crazy.

“Are you okay?”

Nemesis wants to scream that no, he’s actually just about to die, but that seems a bit dramatic even for the situation he’s in, so he just settles for a, “Mm.” 

To which Selfmade replies, sounding concerned, “That didn't sound like a good ‘mm’.”

Nemesis almost laughs.

“Can, uh…” Selfmade hesitates, just slightly, “Can I come in?”

What’s the difference at this point? Nemesis nods, before realizing Selfmade can’t see him. “Door’s unlocked,” he manages in the most normal tone he can muster right now.

The door cracks open, and Selfmade’s head pops through the opening. “Oh— _oh_ my god, Nemi, you smell…” Selfmade clears his throat, looking awkward. “Do you want water or…”

Nemesis thinks he might actually cry now. Not because he’s dying, but because he’s _not_ anymore.

Selfmade smells so fucking good, like sandalwood and spice and leaves in the autumn, and Nemesis’ entire body clenches. “No, not water— _Oskar,”_ Nemesis gasps out, already feeling slick drip through his fingers. “Help me. _Please.”_

Goddammit, Miky was right. Nemesis hates when Miky is right.

Selfmade looks startled. “Help you?” He echoes. “Nemi, I think it’s the heat talking, you should probably—“

“No,” Nemesis interrupts, because he’s so sure now, so _certain_ that this is what he needs and he’s getting it, for fuck’s sake. “You. I need you. Please, Oskar.”

“Fuck,” Selfmade mutters, stepping forward like he can’t help himself. “God, do you know what you smell like? Are you really asking me this?”

Nemesis pushes himself up onto his knees, resting on his haunches, watching the way Selfmade’s gaze drips down his body, a hungry look in his eyes. “Yes,” Nemesis says, as clearly as he can manage right now. Then he reaches out and pulls Selfmade towards him, receiving no resistance from the alpha as Nemesis nudges him onto the bed and straddles his lap. “I’m asking you to fuck me.”

The look on Selfmade’s face turns possessive, his arms curling tight around Nemesis’ waist. “Say that again,” Selfmade purrs, his nose trailing along Nemesis’ bare shoulder blade and against the curve of his neck. A shiver runs up Nemesis’ spine; Selfmade presses his lips against his pulse point, and Nemesis melts.

“Please fuck me.” His voice comes out a low whimper, almost pathetically, but he doesn’t care anymore. 

Selfmade exhales, a quick huff of air, and then his mouth is on Nemesis’ in an open-mouthed kiss, messy and warm and fucking _finally._

“Anything for you, Nemi.”

* * *

Selfmade is rough. He pins Nemesis to the bed, one hand wrapped around both of the omega’s wrists, and fucks into him with abandon, hips rocking forward faster and faster.

Rough is exactly what Nemesis needs right now. His body is absolutely singing with delight. 

“You were fucking _made_ for this, Nemi,” Selfmade growls, teeth scraping against Nemesis’ neck, drawing an uninhibited whine from the mid laner’s throat. “Made to take my cock like this, weren’t you?”

“Yes, fuck,” Nemesis chokes out, finally, _finally_ feeling some semblance of satisfaction. He’s so full, so close, teetering on the precipice of relief. “Just for you, Oskar, _please.”_

Selfmade thrusts particularly hard, and fuck, that’s it; Nemesis’ vision goes white when he comes all over his stomach, back arching into Selfmade, the jungler’s name falling from his lips like a prayer. It’s so sudden but so welcome, leaving Nemesis breathless as he regains his senses.

“Okay?” Selfmade asks, slowing his pace to a steady, gentle grind. Almost immediately, Nemesis feels like he’s lost something; it’s not enough. 

“Yes, okay, please, harder,” he babbles, the words escaping his mouth sooner than he can process them through his addled brain. “I can take it, just, _more.”_

“Don’t worry, Nemi.” Selfmade brings a hand up to brush Nemesis’ bangs out of his eyes, uncharacteristically gentle. “There’s no way I’m done with you yet,” he drawls, and then he pulls away abruptly and flips Nemesis over with ease.

Nemesis barely has time to recalibrate before he’s on his hands and knees, and Selfmade is fucking into him again, pace brutal, hitting all the right spots, and Nemesis is seeing goddamn stars. He thinks he might be moaning Selfmade’s name loud enough for the neighbors to hear, thinks maybe he should be ashamed by how close he is to coming again, but Nemesis doesn’t have the mental fortitude to care right now.

All he cares about is the drag of Selfmade’s cock inside him, his own fingers curling into the sheets, Selfmade’s hands gripping his hips hard enough to leave bruises and the way Nemesis’ head is spinning, dizzy with pleasure.

“Gonna come again, baby?” The pet name rolls off Selfmade’s tongue like it belongs there, and Nemesis bites back another desperate high whine as Selfmade slides into him so easily. There’s slick running down the insides of Nemesis’ thighs, and stickiness all over his stomach, and it should feel all gross but Nemesis just wants more, wants Selfmade to sink his teeth into the skin of his collarbone and knot him like Nemesis is _his_ omega.

The thought sends Nemesis spiraling again, his whole body tensing up as he comes for the second time. He’s really going to have to wash the sheets after this. Maybe twice.

“You good?” Selfmade questions, and Nemesis can _feel_ how hard the alpha still is inside him, and it makes him keep wanting more, spurs him on like a rush of adrenaline.

“Stop asking and keep fucking me,” Nemesis retorts, and feels some kind of sick pleasure when Selfmade’s next thrust makes his head reel. 

“Are you telling me what to do, baby?” Selfmade’s voice is husky, deep and deceptively sweet. Nemesis shudders involuntarily as Selfmade runs a single finger down the curve of his spine; he wonders if maybe he’s about to regret those words. “Sure you wanna do that?”

Nemesis swallows thickly. “Please?” He tries, making his tone mellow.

He can practically hear the grin in Selfmade’s voice. “Good boy,” he cooes, and then he starts fucking Nemesis again.

And he doesn’t stop. Not even when Nemesis comes, again and again and _again;_ he keeps fucking Nemesis through it, even as Nemesis whimpers and moans and at one point, cries because it’s just so damn good and he never wants Selfmade to stop, even though he knows he’ll probably already feel it for a week afterwards. 

At some point Nemesis loses track of time, loses count of how many times he’s spilled all over himself and the sheets beneath him. He’s only concerned with Selfmade, who’s somehow still rock hard and pounding into Nemesis like he’s never going to stop, coaxing the noises from Nemesis’ throat, making him scream until he’s hoarse and they’re _definitely_ going to get a noise complaint.

Sometime after the first hour, Selfmade flips Nemesis onto his back again and noses along the crease of Nemesis’ shoulder and neck, lips trailing up to nibble at the shell of the omega’s ear. “So messy,” Selfmade murmurs, almost like he’s in awe. “Look at you. You’re a wreck.”

And Nemesis can only pant in response, too tired to even whine, legs still spread wide open for Selfmade to fuck between. He feels sticky everywhere, but it’s the good kind of sticky and honestly, Nemesis isn’t quite satisfied yet, still wants just one more thing.

“I want—want you to knot me,” he manages, feeling his face grow warm as Selfmade meets his eyes. It’s a little funny, honestly, how Nemesis is only blushing _now,_ after everything they’ve just done. 

Selfmade hums in response, brushing his thumb against Nemesis’ lower lip, gentle fingers belying the devilishness in his smile when he says, “Beg me.” 

Nemesis frowns, discomfit mount in his stomach. He can feel the base of Selfmade’s cock growing inside him with every thrust, and if he doesn’t knot Nemesis—

Well, not to be dramatic, but Nemesis might just die.

“Please knot me,” he murmurs, softly.

Lazily, Selfmade rolls his hips forward, grinding lightly against Nemesis’ ass. The mid laner bites back a little moan, watching Selfmade’s face carefully.

“What was that?”

Selfmade looks _amused._ Nemesis glares at him, but he’s sure any intimidation factor he might have had before has since been negated by how fucked out he is right now, spread open underneath Selfmade. 

“Please knot me,” Nemesis repeats, louder this time, feeling the desperation seep into his voice. “Oskar, please, I want your knot inside me.”

“You’re so pretty when you’re begging me,” Selfmade muses thoughtfully, “I should make you do it more.”

And with that, he starts up his pace again, albeit not as harsh as before. It’s more of a means to an end, just enough that Nemesis starts to feel Selfmade grow bigger and bigger inside him, to the point where him pulling out begins to hurt.

Selfmade seems to recognize that, because he thrusts in one last time and then stops, hands gripping Nemesis’ hips as if to hold him through it. Nemesis shifts, abruptly realizing that he’s being knotted for the first time by his best friend of all people, and it’s less weird than it should be.

Nemesis’ eyes flutter shut as he feels Selfmade’s lips settle onto his pulse point, the alpha muttering what sounds like a Polish swear word, and then he comes.

It’s a surprising feeling, the warmth inside him, but not altogether unwelcome. Nemesis feels a little like he’s floating on a cloud, adrift high above everything else as Selfmade nuzzles at his neck. There’s a pleasant buzzing sensation in the pit of Nemesis’ stomach; the pleasure of Selfmade’s knot inside him is more gentle, more like rippling waves than the harsh tsunamis over and over again earlier. Nemesis can’t decide which one he likes better, not that he really has to.

“Can I ask if you’re good now?” Selfmade mumbles against Nemesis’ bare skin, earning a tired chuckle in response.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Nemesis lets his head sink into the pillows, suddenly exhausted but so fucking satisfied. “You?”

Selfmade grins, and Nemesis feels the corners of his lips turning upwards against his neck. “Mm,” he hums.

“Didn’t sound like a good ‘mm’,” Nemesis points out, just to be annoying.

“Shut up, of course it was a good ‘mm’.” Selfmade finally pulls away from Nemesis neck, gingerly rearranging them so he can lie on the bed beside Nemesis, one arm loosely wrapped around the omega’s waist. “You’re secretly a fucking slut. It’s great.”

He laughs as Nemesis shoves him, albeit weakly because he’s worn out, okay. “It was just because of my heat,” Nemesis says pointedly. “Speaking of which, you know that’s not over yet right?”

“Yeah, right.” Selfmade snorts, eyes full of mirth. “And yes, I do, I studied biology. Guess that means we’re not going anywhere for a while.”

Face hidden in a pillow, Nemesis smiles. Just a little. “We?” he echoes.

“Obviously I’m not letting any other alpha near you anymore.” Selfmade’s teeth nip lightly at the back of Nemesis’ neck, almost reprimanding. “Not even Jankos. I smelled him on you earlier.”

“He was just bringing me medicine from Miky. Are you jealous?” Nemesis teases.

“ _No,”_ Selfmade huffs, evidently jealous. “But I’m just saying. I knotted you, you’re mine now, all that. Well, you can be, if you wanted to.”

Nemesis thinks about that; the way Selfmade’s scent makes him feel soothed, their friendship, how right it all seems. If Nemesis has learned anything from these past few years, it’s that fate has its ways.

“Yeah, I do,” he decides. “Might as well, right? It’ll be the same for us, anyway.”

“Yep,” Selfmade agrees, tone mischievous. “Just with fucking now, of course.”

“Of course.” Nemesis can’t help but smile even wider. Like an idiot. Honestly.

Selfmade yawns, the action vibrating through his chest and against Nemesis’ back. “Anyway, just give me like half an hour. When I can pull out without it hurting I’ll clean you up and stuff. I can even carry you to the shower.”

That kind of makes something warm bloom in Nemesis’ chest, a fluttery kind of sensation—like butterflies on fire, which probably isn’t the best analogy or even the most romantic one, but it seems to work. Things seem to work.

“You’re such a good alpha,” Nemesis hums teasingly. “Since when do you do all that?”

Selfmade tightens his hold on Nemesis’ waist, burying his face in Nemesis’ hair and taking a deep breath. “Anything for you, Nemi.”

* * *

**miky mihael mehle:** yo tim, are u alive

 **miky mihael mehle:**??

 **miky mihael mehle:** do I need to send jankos over again

 **miky mihael mehle:** wait 

**miky mihael mehle:** did u actually take my advice

**nemesis:** u were right 

**miky mihael mehle:** oh I seeeeeeee

 **miky mihael mehle:** well have fun ;)

 **miky mihael mehle:** baby’s all grown up and getting some

**nemesis:** im blocking u.

 **nemesis:** … thanks

**miky mihael mehle:** :D

**Author's Note:**

> wtf is this


End file.
